After all the famous comics crack a couple of jokes, an announcer with a big, booming voice reminds everybody that “the winner of the Planet’s Funniest Kid Comic Contest will take home one million dollars and come back to Hollywood to star in their very own half-hour sitcom for BNC’s exciting new season!”
“Great,” says Ray Romano when the announcer is done. “I can see it now. A new sitcom called Everybody Loves Patty. Or maybe they all love Antony, or Judy, or Jamie. Hey, how come all four finalists have names that end in an ee sound?”
“Because ee names are funny,” says Billy Crystal. “Always have been, always will be.”
Chatty Patty (the girl with a double ee in her name) goes on first and wows the crowd with her dumb act, still cribbing material from Gracie Allen.
She gets a huge ovation when her fifteen minutes are up.
Once again, America will decide who they think is the funniest kid comic on the planet. They can text or call special numbers to vote. Chatty Patty holds up her index finger to show everybody that she’s number one (or to prove that she hasn’t been picking her nose).
Antony Guerrero is up next. Like always, he is hysterical. And a little edgy. Tonight, he makes fun of American football.
“Soccer is football. Football isn’t. Americans don’t play football with their feet unless they’re punting. Or running. I guess you have to use your feet to run. But the kickers? The real football players? Come on. They’re the skinniest dudes on the team. They wear funny face masks. When they kick the ball through the uprights, nobody screams, ‘Fieeeeeeeeld goooooooooooooal!’ ”
Third up is Judy Nazemetz.
Yes. She funny. She should be—she’s had joke doctors and comedy coaches working with her at a secret high-tech laugh lab. I think one of her writers must be Tommy Cooper, a famous British comedian and magician who died way back in the eighties, because her set is full of recycled Cooperisms.
The audience loves her. Me? Not so much. Tommy Cooper told the jokes better. Plus, he didn’t play nasty tricks on his so-called friends.
When her fifteen minutes are up, Judy chats with Ray Romano, holds up three fingers to urge everybody to vote for her, and bounds offstage.
It’s time for our fourth and final contestant. Yes, in the second half of the second hour, it is finally my turn to roll onstage and spin comedy gold.
There’s only one problem.
Nobody can find me.
Chapter 71
WHERE’S JAMIE-O?
Chapter 72
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PRESENTING ME!
Sorry about that.
I was off in the wings. Sweating. And saying a quick prayer that what I’m about to do isn’t completely dumb or totally insane.
I’ve decided to risk everything on one story.
My story. No jokes, really. No one-liners.
Just the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. They say that sometimes, the truth can be funnier than fiction.
I sure hope it is tonight.
I wheel myself to center stage and just let it all come tumbling out.
“Hi, I’m Jamie Grimm. I’m really glad to be here tonight. You know, a lot of people say that if I don’t win this contest, I shouldn’t worry. ‘Don’t let losing get you down, Jamie. You’ll be back on your feet in no time.’ Really?”
I look down at my legs and my wheelchair.
“Well, if that’s true—wow! I kind of hope I lose!”
The audience laughs. They’re with me. So I take them on a ride.
“So yeah, I’m in a wheelchair. Haven’t always been this way. I used to run around and swim and bounce on a trampoline. I even did the hokey-pokey. Put my right leg in, took it out, put my left leg in, and shook it all about.
“Anyway, after my accident, I moved down to Long Beach and got an after-school job in my uncle Frankie’s diner.”
I give America as much of my story as I can squeeze into fifteen minutes. All the stuff you’ve been reading in these books?
That’s my A material, folks.
Because it’s my A+ life.
Yeah, some of it is a little corny. Then again, so am I.
Maybe what Stevie Kosgrov says about me is true.
At heart, maybe I’m still just the Crip from Cornball.
Chapter 73
A BACKSTAGE MIRACLE
Did I win?
Well, we won’t know until America finishes voting and the golden envelope is opened tomorrow night during a special one-hour super-duper results-show edition of the Planet’s Funniest Kid Comic Contest.
That’s right. It takes them an hour to open an envelope, pull out a card, and read a name.
But that’s okay.
I’ve already won a pretty amazing prize: The Smileys come backstage after the show, and guess what?
THEY’RE SMILING!
Even more remarkable, Stevie Kosgrov is acting like he is my best and happiest friend in the whole world.
“You were so good,” Stevie gushes. “Awesome, even. When you told that joke about me being a bully? Oh, I laughed so hard, tears ran down my legs. Well, tears or something wet.”
“Um, thanks, Stevie.”
“Hey, you wanna go grab an In-N-Out burger with me?”
“That would be fun,” says Mr. Smiley, his grin wider than his pants.
“Super-duper funterrific,” adds Mrs. Smiley. “Ha hee ho ho!”
“Um,” I say, “you guys are just faking it, right?”
Nobody denies it. They all flip their smiles upside down and turn them back into frowns.
“It was a joke, Jamie,” says Mr. Smiley.
“What’s the matter, Cornball?” Stevie laughs. “Don’t you have a sense of humor?”
Chapter 74
LUCKY DAY?
The next day is one of the longest of my life.
The votes—over one hundred million were texted or phoned in—are being tabulated. The results show goes on the air, live, at eight o’clock. But the winner won’t be announced until 8:55 PM at the earliest.
Everybody has an opinion about who’s going to be crowned the Planet’s Funniest Kid Comic.
The blogs, newspaper critics, and morning TV shows all seem to think Judy Nazemetz will win. Except the ones that think Antony Guerrero gave the funniest performance. Or the other ones that say Chatty Patty Dombrowski is on her way to taking home one million dollars and starring in her own BNC-TV sitcom.
Yes, all the experts seem to agree on one thing: The winner won’t be me.
But guess what? My friends and the folks back home in Long Beach have all been calling and texting me for hours.
“You were, without a doubt, the best!” says Pierce.
“You were awesome, dude!” says Gaynor.
“You done good,” says Gilda. “Real good.”
“You funny!” says Mr. Burdzecki, my favorite Russian customer at Uncle Frankie’s diner. “You very, very funny! Funniest on this planet. Mars, too. Even Jupiter. The jokers on Jupiter? Pah. They not funny.”
They’re all behind me one hundred percent. And now that I think about it, none of them ever gave up on me, even when I almost gave up on myself.
I’ve never loved them more.
Especially Uncle Frankie.
“You were hysterical, kiddo,” he says when we have breakfast together. “I loved how you imitated what my face looked like when I had that heart attack. Aaack! And don’t worry. If, for some bizarro reason, you don’t win and don’t wind up with your own TV show, you can always be a guest star on mine.”
“Huh?”
“I got a call this morning. The Discovery Channel wants me to do a reality show: Mr. Yo-Yo!”
Chapter 75
MAY I HAVE THE ENVELOPE, PLEASE? PRETTY PLEASE?
Welcome to the longest fifty-five minutes in history.
We four finalists sit onstage at the Nokia Theatre while Ray Romano and the judges crack jokes and analyze our acts from the night before. They show video cli
ps of our routines. Special musical guests show up and sing songs. They even bring out the dog act that won America’s Got Talent a few years back.
Finally, mercifully, right before I plop my last available drop of flop sweat onto the floor, Ray Romano starts opening envelopes.
“The person getting the fourth-highest number of votes was…”
Long pause. Long enough for me to realize that Mr. Romano just came up with a very polite way of saying “And the loser is…”
I brace myself. Hunker down in my chair. I know he’s going to read my name.
But he doesn’t.
“Patricia Dombrowski.”
Chatty Patty is trying to smile, even though she wants to scream. Or weep. Probably both. I think this is why her cheeks are squirming like a squirrel with a faceful of chestnuts roasted over an open fire.
“The next runner-up,” says Ray Romano, “is…”
Another pause. Longer than that last one. My shoulders are so tense they’re almost in my ears.
“Antony Guerrero.”
I can’t believe this.
It’s down to Judy Nazemetz and me. She looks at me. I’m looking at her. Her smile is big and fake. Mine is quivering and queasy.
“One more envelope,” says Ray Romano. “Inside, we have the name of the winner. See, there’s really no need for me to announce the runner-up, because if I did, everybody would know who the winner is, too. Am I right? I mean, we could, I guess, if you really want us to, we could make another envelope and—”
“Yo, Ray!” shouts Chris Rock. “Just tell us who won!”
“Fine. Be that way.”
He tears open the envelope. Pulls out a card. “The winner. Of one million dollars and their own TV show on BNC. The Planet’s Funniest Kid Comic. Our first champion. Could be our last, too, unless we do this again next year.”
Man. Mr. Romano is really good at stretching stuff out.
“The name I’m about to announce, because it is written on this card in a very lovely font… is…”
Pause.
Longest pause ever.
Since the beginning of time.
You could drive a circus train through this pause.
Seriously.
Enough already.
Ray Romano takes a deep breath. My heart shuts down.
Chapter 76
I’M SORRY. COULD YOU REPEAT THAT?
Jamie Grimm! The funniest kid comic on the planet is Jamie Grimm!”
I won?
O.
M.
G.
This is unbelievable.
The crowd at the theater goes wild.
Somebody hands me a ginormous trophy. Uncle Frankie comes running up onstage and throws his arms around me.
“I always knew you were the funniest kid in the whole wide world!”
Now everybody comes streaming onto the stage to congratulate me. Billy Crystal. Chris Rock. Ellen DeGeneres. Ray Romano. The bestselling author of all time, James Patterson. The Smileys, who are actually smiling for real! Even Stevie, who’s probably thinking of my (his) money. A guy lugging a typewriter named Chris Grabenstein (the guy, not the typewriter). Laura Park, who has ink all over her fingers. That crazy kid Rafe Khatchadorian. Even Amanda Durley, who won some kind of contest.
Just like I just did.
Can you believe this?
It’s official: I Totally Funniest!
Chapter 77
SAY GOOD-BYE TO HOLLYWOOD!
The next morning, bright and early, I’m ready to leave LA and go home to celebrate my victory with my friends, the ones who have been with me for this whole incredible ride.
Unfortunately, Hollywood isn’t quite ready to let go of me.
And it’s not just because I’m supposed to start work ASAP on my new TV show, which, by the way, the people at BNC want to call I Funny TV.
Nope. The Los Angeles airport is just a big crazy showbiz zoo filled with agents and lawyers and publicists instead of lions and tigers and bears.
Somehow, the Smileys and I make our way to the airport security gate. One look from the tough-looking security guards makes the Hollywood zoo animals finally back off. I’m so grateful I don’t even mind when they make me empty all my pockets. My lint collection might have suffered, but that’s a small price to pay to be able to go home.
Chapter 78
GOING BACK IN TIME
When we land in New York, I ask Uncle Frankie if we can make a quick side trip to visit some old friends.
“But everybody’s waiting for us in Long Beach,” he says. “The mayor wants to read you your official proclamation. It’s Jamie Grimm Day. I think they give you coupons for ice cream cones when they give you a proclamation. But you’ll have to wait until all the ice cream shops are open again.”
“That’s all great, Uncle Frankie, but, well, this is more important. For me, anyway. None of this would’ve ever happened without them. They helped me find my funny bone even before you did. Maybe because they’re doctors and knew where to look.”
Uncle Frankie grins. “Toss that two tons of tin in the backseat, kiddo, and crank up the doo-wop music. We’re going on a road trip.”
We stow my Planet’s Funniest Kid Comic trophy in the backseat of Uncle Frankie’s car, text a few friends in Long Beach to let them know we’re running late, crank up the “sha-boop-bee-boo” tunes, and drive north to the Hope Trust Children’s Rehabilitation Center in upstate New York.
When I was a patient at the center, we all called it the Hopeless Hotel, because every single one of us thought we were hopeless cases until the doctors, nurses, and physical therapists convinced us we weren’t.
I head for the rehab center’s patient library.
When Uncle Frankie and I roll through the door, I see my orthopedic surgeon, Dr. David Sherman. He’s standing right in front of the bookshelves crammed with joke books and comedy videos—what he used to call “Jamie Grimm’s personal medicine chest.”
Every day, either he or one of the nurses or my physical therapist or an orderly would bring me a couple of joke books or funny videos from these very special shelves. Even in my full-body cast, I could read. Even when nobody thought I would live, I could laugh.
Dr. Sherman is the one who always tells his patients “Laughter is the best medicine.”
I think he’s right.
I think all that laughter kept me alive back then.
I think it’s what keeps me smiling now.
“Jamie!” exclaims Dr. Sherman when he sees me. “You were fantastic at the finals! Hilarious. I voted for you. Everybody here did—even the kids wrapped up in more plaster than you ever wore. They just had to ask the nurses and orderlies to do their texting for them!”
“Thank you, Dr. Sherman.” I hold up my trophy. “Here. I want you guys to have this.”
“But, Jamie…”
“You deserve it. I figure you can use it as a bookend. And a reminder that no matter how serious your situation, jokes can help you feel better. You were so right. Laughter can help you survive anything, no matter how horrible.”
“Even Hollywood,” quips Uncle Frankie.
“Well, thank you, Jamie,” says Dr. Sherman. “This library needs a sturdy bookend or two. These last couple of months, we’ve been adding quite a few new videos to our comedy collection.”
“Really?” I say. “What’d you guys get? Seinfeld episodes? Charlie Chaplin’s silent movies? Classic Tonight Shows with Johnny Carson?”
Dr. Sherman smiles and shakes his head.
“Nope. This whole shelf is reserved for our favorite comedian. A funny kid who never, ever quit on us. A young guy named Jamie Grimm.”
Chapter 79
HOME SWEET HOME
Pretty soon, it’s back to the same old same old.
Yes, I might be the Crip from Cornball, but Long Beach on Long Island—with Uncle Frankie, all my friends, tons of memories, and the frowning Smileys (including Stevie Kosgrov)—really feels like home now.
Everybody in town is pulling together and working on it. Even the zombies and vampires and talking dogs and Godzilla the Garbageman and all the other somewhat strange figments of my imagination are helping out.
Yes, every once in a while, Uncle Frankie (I asked him to be my business manager) and I talk to Joe Amodio from BNC about the I Funny TV show I’m going to star in. And now and then, we have to talk to the bankers about how my million dollars are doing. Well, my half a million.
Yes, we spent the other half.
Uncle Frankie is getting a brand-new diner and jukebox. The Smileys are getting a new house, Smileyville 2.
And Uncle Sam is getting a whole bunch of income tax.
As for my half, well… I wish I could say I’ll use it for something awesome like a penthouse apartment in New York City with an indoor bowling alley. But Uncle Frankie and the Smileys have told me it’s for college and to pay for any medical advancements that might happen down the line.
Who knows? Maybe being funny will eventually help me walk again.
But right now, I’m just back to being in school. Being a kid.
Of course, a lot of folks want to shake my hand, knock knuckles, or slap me a high or low five.
Best part of being home?
Hanging with my buds. Pierce, Gaynor, and Gilda. Everybody wants to shake hands with them, too. Let’s face it—they’ve been a huge part of my journey. I couldn’t have done any of this without them, either.
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